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A  Song  for  Every  Southern  Man. 


Now  all  you  Southern  people,  just  listen  to  ray  song, 
It's  about  the  Harpers'  Ferry  affair,  it  is  not  very  long. 
To  please  you  all  I  do  my  best,  I  sung  it  in  other  towns, 
And  while  1  am  in  Richmond,  I'll  tell  you  about  old  Brown. 

Chorus.     Old  Ossawattomio  Brown  !  old  Ossawattomic  Brown  ! 
That  will  never  pay, 
Trying  to  come  away  down  South, 
And  run  the  niggers  away. 

Old  Brown  and  Cook,  and  a  do;:cn  more,  to  Harpers'  Ferry  went, 
They  got  into  the  arsinel  there,  they  did  not  have  no  right; 
Old  Governor  Wise  heard  of  this,  he  started  from  Richmond  town, 
He  went  to  Harpers'  Ferry,  and  there  he  caught  eld  Brown. 
Chorus,  &c. 

They  took  him  down  to  Charlestown,  and  into  prison  ihrow'd  him; 
They  put  two  chains  upon  his  legs,  Oh  yes  !  it  was  to  hold  him, 
They  put  two  chains  upon  his  legs  and  two  upon  his  arms, 
The  virdict  of  the  jury  was,  old  Brown  he  should  be  hung. 
Chorus,  &c. 

Cook  and  Coppic  were  in  prison,  they  thought  about  escaping, 
They  got  upon  the  wall,  but  they  could  not  save  their  bacon  ! 
The  guard  he  saw  them  up  there,  at  them  throw'd  his  pill 
OKI  Cook  tumbled  over  just  like  he  had  been  killed. 
Chorus,,  &c. 

Now  they  all  are  dead  and  goue  to  heaven  some  do  say, 
The  angels  standing  at  the  gate  to  drive  them  right  away; 
The  devil  standing  down  below,  he  calls  them  for  to  come, 
It's  no  use  now  old  John  Brown,  you  can't  get  a  chance  to  run. 
Chorus,  c\:c. 

Now  all  you  Southern  people  a  little  advice  I  give; 
Patronize  the  South  and  the  State  in  which  you  live; 
And  not  unto  Northern  people  your  money  never  pay, 
They  have  their  agents  in  the  South,  to  run  your  slaves  away. 
Chorus,  &c. 

Now  all  you  Southern  darkies,  a  word  to  you  I'll  say; 
Always  mind  your  masters,  and  never  run  away, 
And  don't  mind  these  Northern  agents,  they  tell  to  you  a  lie, 
They  get  you  at  the  North,  and  starve  you  'till  you  die. 
Chorus,  &c. 


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